Paper Girl
by skidtick
Summary: When times become too difficult, you can always fly away. Each chapter is a short drabble about Konan's relationship with each member of the Akatsuki. Konan. Akatsuki.
1. SasoriThe Origami Pig

A/N

I'm at loathe to say anything I write is romantic, but most of these seem to take that tone. In a way, I guess it is open to interpretation. I guess I can admit UST though?

These will all be stand-alone stories.

Please read and review, this is quite different from what I normally write unfortunately.

**The Origami Pig**

The rain beat its harsh coolness against the windows of the hideout. It just made the temperature a bit colder than it already was: sub-zero freezing.

Already, Konan could see the raindrops slowly transform into sleet. It was colder, and harder, but already, the roaring sound of water outside was softening to wet soft sounds.

Quietly, she felt a cool hand circle around her neck.

"Cold?" she heard a voice. It was sharp and sudden against the quieting weather despite its soft almost gentle tone.

Konan slowly got up from her sitting position and the hand fell away.

"Sasori-san," she said, stepping a few paces back.

The thing about Akatsuki… the thing about partners was that the partners were similar. Every one of them seemed to pick up their titbits of ba- no, bad was the wrong word… _idiosyncrasies _from each other.

Konan had picked up the cold distant status Nagato had imparted her.

And Sasori?

He seemed to gain the idea that personal space was an idea for other people. Perhaps and influence from Orochimaru?

That was ironic, as a user of the puppet jutsu, his enemies were always so distant from him, making battles not-so intimate, hardly anything more than something as distant or as boring as war. As a ninja, you would face hundreds of puppets, never seeing the master behind them. It really was like war where feelings and passion played no part.

The result of his quirk however, was painful to say the least. His behaviour immediately cancelled out the elegant superiority she carried around with her and made her feel uncomfortable. His glassy eyes reflected no emotion, but picked up the hidden traces of sympathy or anger, she felt.

He was only a few years older than her. This sudden changing of status of who was whose superior should never have happened.

The tipping of hierarchy occurred so suddenly and naturally that even Konan was slightly disturbed by how easily control came to the puppet master.

"Are you cold?" he repeated. His tone was forever smug. The kind of smugness that died away from Nagato once Yahiko had died. Why was he so condescending? The fact that he, the emotionally if not physically distant puppeteer was gracing her with a full sentence?

"No," she moved to get out of the room.

He moved his body to block her.

Konan could have turned into paper, float freely out of the room. And she was half in mind to consider this. It would have broken this strange unofficial ritual between them, but bonds were no longer sacred. Let alone a bond that came about through curiosity, hunger and coldness.

As if sensing the danger, Sasori pursed his lips somewhat annoyed, it was a tedious situation but it had to be dealt with.

"I just want to talk." _Relax._

Konan heard his unspoken word.

"Yes?" she said murmured. She was used to his oddities if not satisfied with them.

He wandered closer to her and placed a cold palm against her cheek.

It was hardly a romantic gesture. Sasori seemed to do it to everybody far more than Orochimaru did. But for this one moment in time, his face was incredibly close.

It was close enough that she could see his painted eyes, the small incisions made upon his wooden lips, there was even a false shine on his cheeks. What reality had created, Sasori could easily replicate and more. His skill at it was almost a mockery of the whole concept of being alive. The dead puppet could easily replicate anything that crossed his fancy. By separating himself so far from humanity, perhaps he had gained that God-like ability.

But thinking that someone else could almost be like Nagato was wrong.

In his gaze held a hunger. If she asked and he felt obliged to answer, he would not have been able to name what he desired. It was this raw energy whose soul concern was to feed. If she pressed further and if he had a more open personality, he might have said that the hunger reminded him of baked sand and hot sun.

But even then, he would never be able to pinpoint what exactly he sought for.

"Are you cold now?" he whispered. There is something about a dark room that prompts one to whisper, to not disturb the perfect shadows of the night.

"No," Konan answered back and she made as if to move away from him and out of the room.

He blocked her again.

"Do I scare you?" As tactfulness and what passed for politeness failed, he resorted to baiting her.

"What do you want?" Konan asked quietly, resigned.

He walked softly towards her and she backed up against the wall. It wasn't the first time this had happened and she knew it probably wouldn't be the last.

But there was something in her as well that felt somewhat responsible for sating whatever it was he was seeking. Inside, she knew that his proximity to her, the things he did to her did no more sate his hunger than would water fill an eternal well.

There was an ever fascinating curiosity that surrounded Sasori. He liked to touch her too smooth skin. Smooth as only paper can be.

Konan wondered if his affinity for touch was because of Orochimaru or whether it was he that passed it on to the snake Sannin.

Slowly, she felt him lick the side of her face. Tasting the funny sort of cold, sort of warm flesh that made up her body. Perhaps it was Orochimaru's influence after all. His tongue left behind no trail of saliva and only succeeded in lowering her skin temperature by another degree or two.

Sasori lightly ran his fingers over her manicured nails and once more brushed her cheek. Before slowly digging his chakra strings into her flesh, deep into the muscle until it connected to her chakra channels. He idly explored, maybe contemplating what it would be like if she suddenly turned into paper. Would he too feel the freedom and the buffet of the wind?

He pushed the chakra strings further and he looked directly at her eyes. Not out of concern, but out of this interest at observing her reaction to this blatant violation of courtesy and comfort zones.

Konan remained tense. Was it truly possible that somebody could be so separated from humanity that even the simplest protocols were ignored?

She could feel the caress of his chakra strings, pulling here and there but never moving her limbs. She even felt the tingle of his always too cold chakra behind her eyeballs.

If he had asked her right then: _Are you cold?_

Konan would have said yes.

Sasori's chakra was cold to the point of burning.

"Sometimes Konan," he started, haltingly. Uncharacteristic of the puppet master to hesitate. "It seems you avoid me in the corridors, always busy when there's something I need to ask. Always leaving when you see me coming. Why is that? I wonder…"

Sasori had long stopped wearing Hiruko when he came to meet Konan. In some odd way, she supposed she ought to feel flattered. And she did.

He remained silent while waiting for her reply. His hands did not stop moving though, drawing small circles upon her bare shoulders.

He had to look up to meet her eyes. He was older than her, he was heavier than her but he was about just three centimetres shorter.

It wasn't that much of a difference, but as he glanced upwards, he wished he had made a taller version of the puppet body that covered his heart.

"Please stop Sasori-san, you're making me uncomfortable," she said. Moving her arms a bit, she attempted to lightly push him away. But Sasori must have been determined to have another conversation with her for he did not take the hint.

"Konan," he said quietly.

Her eyes narrowed by a fraction. She did not care for such things herself but generally, when referring to the Leader's partner, there was at least a lot more respect than this intimate intonation he was taking into his tone.

"Is what you do art?" Sasori ignored her obviously tense figure, his wooden hands digging into her shoulder almost painfully. He kept her still as his eyes scanned across her face, looking for the defiant behaviour that was not there.

He had always thought Konan was too compliant for her own good. He used to think it was a behaviour reserved solely for Leader, Konan's partner. The first time he touched her, he was startled to find he was wrong. She was too compliant to everybody. Everybody's personal puppet.

Konan contemplated just leaving. Leave Sasori standing in a room full of paper that soon would no longer be there. But he needed this. This conversation. There was some kind of craving for company that perhaps also spurned his need for touch.

Maybe he craved for company that wasn't too human, too emotional until the only thing that was left was the physical.

And Konan wondered whether it was a good thing or bad thing he considered her a suitable candidate.

"Art doesn't destroy," Konan said, forming a paper shuriken that peeled from the side of her neck. It slowly dragged across Sasori's cheek and he shuddered, sighing, his already lidded eyes almost shut. His body pressed imperceptibly closer to hers.

It wasn't like he could even feel the touch of her paper though. But Konan couldn't tell if he was humouring her, or humouring himself.

Origami had lost its flavour for her. By incorporating it into her jutsu, she had unwittingly destroyed what she used to love.

Paper flowers were acceptable. They were perhaps one of the only shapes that she did not use for the fight and for the kill.

"Art is eternal," he mused. "Paper is fragile but I've seen you keep those flowers on display and they remain undamaged."

Then, his thoughtful voice cracked into something cold and cutting. His face moved closer to hers until their lips were barely an inch apart.

"Paper tears," he hissed.

"Wood rots," Konan replied quietly. Her voice was always calm, almost to the point of adopting the languid intonations Sasori had.

His grip on her shoulders was growing painful now and Konan pushed at his arms, giving him a pointed gaze.

A soft sigh of assent came from his lips and he slowly loosened his grip, only to move his hands gently back to her face.

Their bodies were still pressed tightly against each other. His right foot stood between her legs.

Sasori moved his face so that it rested next to hers on the wall, giving Konan an unobstructed view of the rest of the room. Uninteresting furnishing, dull light. It was more interesting gazing in Sasori's tawny eyes despite the fact that his gaze was just as bland as the rest of the room. It was bored and filled with apathy even with the cold and intense passion in his voice.

Her paper skin would long have cut normal flesh if Sasori still possessed that. Those that touched her often found red streaks of paper cuts marring their flesh.

Wood was stronger than paper though. Her skin did nothing against his, not even leaving behind any sort of thin imperfection.

Konan was a patient woman.

It took patience to fold thousands of paper cranes.

And it was patience that kept her from leaving Sasori's hungry gaze.

It was ironic. She was but mortal, as a puppet, he never aged. Yet think, who was the more patient of the two? One had all the time in the world, and one didn't.

She couldn't see Sasori now, his head next to hers prevented her from turning to meet his eyes anyway. But she felt the smooth silken strands of synthetic hair brush against the edge of her ear. His chin that barely touched her shoulder moved as she felt him begin to speak.

"You've always been like a puppet, Konan. Even if I made you immortal, I doubt you would behave any differently. It's like you are dead."

"Is it more comforting to find someone out there like you then?" She asked.

Sasori didn't reply and Konan did not think he would. Then after an eternity he managed to sigh out, "You're not like me."

The usual irritation in his voice wasn't there. Perhaps Konan was wrong that respect for her had been entirely dumped.

His left arm gripped her right hand and moved it so that it lay pinned next to her head. She could easily feel his cool false breath against her face. It was the breath of a dead person.

Both Konan and Sasori were naturally stoic and unemotional people. But while Sasori was non-human enough to feel nothing, _nothing_, from the close proximity of their flesh, how they shared their breath, Konan felt her discomfort increasing.

It wasn't like they never had these… sessions before. In hallways, sometimes when he entered her room at night, it always started with the same question: _Are you cold?_

Unsaid were the words: _Do I make you cold? Can paper feel more than the dead wood?_

Sasori brought his head up again to stare at her. His half lidded lazy gaze spoke more than apathy.

Slowly, he bent forward.

It might have been a kiss, Konan thought. But she was unsure. This thing seemed more mundane than a simple medical check up and by the time he left the room, she still did not fully comprehend the significance of the action, if there was any meaning to it at all.

Then, he dropped her arm and left the room, not looking back. After a few minutes, Konan too retired for the night.

The day Sasori died, she reached Suna before Zetsu or Madara did. Kneeling by his body, she left a paper flower.

Paper would blow away easily in the desert wind.

Sasori had been right. Paper tears far too easily.

Quietly, she brushed her hands through his hair, a bit startled by the wide open expression his eyes have taken in death.

It seemed to be her turn to touch him this time.

Maybe there was peace in his eyes. It was difficult to tell.

But maybe, out here in the sand and sun, his hunger had been sated at last.

Zetsu reached Sasori's body soon after Konan left.

The flower had already gone.

X.X.X

A/N

Ehm, I bet all of you people can tell that this is not romantic? (Somewhat uncertain tone of voice, so don't mind me. As I said, your guess really is as good as mine. Some writer huh? Doesn't even know what is happening in her own story.)

Oh well, this has to be one of those stories I really hesitate to put up. Believe me, there are about five on my computer I don't want to post because I worry about quality… and this is borderline one of them.

But anyway, please review? One word reviews are fine when it comes to that…

**So, review?**


	2. HidanThe Paper Zombie

A/N

All chapters are stand alone. Otherwise things will seem overdramatic. Come to think of it, they are getting pretty out of hand already….

Well, hope you enjoy this and please review!

**The Paper Zombie**

_She always sees him when it rains;_

Konan knows to leave Nagato alone once the thunder strikes and the rain falls down, sharp as kunai.

In such violent weather, it is almost a paradox why it suddenly becomes so peaceful and above all, _normal_ in the hide out.

There was the living room, the space that often seemed so dreary in the regular overcast weather. However, when the full storm hits, it becomes brightly lit with florescent, very modern lights. It bathes the whole place in a bright yellow and cheery glow.

The house plant in the corner even contributed to the whole normality of the environment.

Nobody actually knew who had put the house plant there. As far as everybody in the Akatsuki knew, nobody watered it.

Or they thought nobody did.

In fact, each member on some whim would water the house plant on random intervals. Sometime it wasn't watered for weeks, sometimes it was watered as much as five times a day. The plant never thrived, but it never got close to dying either.

But to the general knowledge of every member, nobody watered it and nobody was even sure if the plant was real.

Therefore, it was only in the thundering, horrific rain did the hide out begin to resemble homeliness and safety.

Only in the rain was it not dreary.

But rarely did any members get to enjoy it.

Nagato released his wild anger and desperation when most members were out completing their missions. Konan realized that that was pure Nagato through and through. As much as he was cold hearted and almost dead now, he still retained the sensitivity of his childhood, unwilling to let anyone besides her share in his pain.

It was all very nostalgic really.

However, due to the oddities of scheduling arrangement and constant spills of coffee that further confused things, there was always one particular member that stayed with her in the living room when the storm was raging.

She always shared the living room with him when it rained. The living room after all was the only part of the hide out that did not short circuited from the wild lightning. It had become a sort of ritual. Every time it rained, they met each other there. No one ever said anything and nobody had ever broken their silence. Not even him, which was unusual enough.

He sat opposite to her now, violent eyes dulled by boredom, glancing at nothing in particular as one hand played with a rosary around his neck. He wasn't particularly considerate, lazing horizontally across the one comfortable couch and leaving her to the lumpy and spring laden chair. His body however, was too long for the couch to fully support and his legs dangled of the edge, feet beating a tune on the hard sides.

As he had put it on a non rainy day to her in the corridor, "When the freaking lights go out, I find myself in the dark covered in fucking blood. The hell, I can't even do anything when your bitch goes through his fucking tantrums, why don't you do something about this shit?"

The cloak he normally wore during official missions lay beneath him and he was unsurprisingly shirtless despite the cold that rain invited.

Hidan's insistent tapping and the roaring sound of the rain created a cacophony of sounds that was difficult to bear.

"Do you mind?" she asked. It appeared she'd be the first to break out of their usual routine of quiet. That was ironic.

Her tone was always polite. If Hidan had chosen to ignore her, she would have just got up and left, and to hell with dark rooms. Confrontations were something she had never gotten used to.

The tapping stopped as Hidan glanced over at her as if just noticing she was there.

In one smooth motion, he flipped his legs so that he was now sitting on the couch in the conventional way. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eager that someone other than his God was finally paying attention to him

With a neat easy grin on his face he said, "Yeah? Can you think of anything better to do?"

Konan didn't answer him, her actions already showing her reply. With a few deft folds of paper, a crane took shape.

"Oh, a crane. How fucking original, seriously."

Konan decided she had a small right to be irritated. She shot him an annoyed gaze, consisting of a raised eyebrow and slightly narrowed eyes, one that only served to widen his smile, pleased he had gotten a reaction out of the usually stoic kunoichi.

With another flick of her wrist, another square of paper separated from her hand and she proceeded to fold a more complicated pattern. This one took the shape of many interlinked stars, weaved together in a pinwheel.

"What the hell is that supposed to be?"

Now, a bit irritable that the young man's approval had not been obtained and wondering why she even cared for the opinion of a child ten years younger than she, Konan tried out another piece – a detailed koi fish with hundreds of interlinking scales and a flowing crumpled tail.

Without her jutsu, this took some time and she was surprised to find that Hidan, young impulsive and easily bored, did not throw in the usual snide comments while she was folding.

She looked at her completed work with some satisfaction. Konan only ever used white paper but that made the texture more naturalistic than any gaudy artificial colours would have achieved.

Looking faintly smug at the young man opposite to her, Konan uncharacteristically folded her arms and sat back. Hidan was quiet, looking at the fish from all angles before giving her a grin and saying, "That shit looks almost as ugly as you. Seriously, are you blind?"

Then, as though extremely pleased at his own words, Hidan proceeded to lie back on the couch again. He folded his arms behind his head.

"Well, as _enthralling_ as paper is, I think I'll go back to what I was doing before."

Satisfied by his sarcasm, his legs began to beat out that same annoying rhythm again.

Konan's irritation subsided. Any emotion of hers never seemed to last long and she went back to her art. While it was nice to have somebody impressed by your talent, it really wasn't necessary.

"Are you a fucking zombie or something?"

She looked over at her companion, startled. Konan should not be surprised as she was already familiar with Hidan's oddities and impulses. He wasn't looking at her, just staring up at the ceiling.

Konan could have stayed quiet. But that would have prompted him to continue talking. She could have answered with: _Do I look like a zombie? _But that would have simply made him scathing and even more sarcastic.

So, Konan replied with a quiet, "No."

There was an irony that him of all people would call her a zombie. Who was it that was the immortal one?

But, it appeared she misjudged his character again when he continued on with his verbal harassment.

He did that to everybody.

But he was the only one that did that to Konan simply because he could get away with it. Death threats did nothing but annoy him which was surprising. Konan thought he would be amused by them but his behaviour thus far suggested to her that he believed death to be a privilege and joking about it was only insulting to him.

"Seriously, the fuck is wrong with you? I just called you a hag you know?"

"I know," she paused. "It doesn't really matter."

"The fuck it doesn't matter," his voice rose in annoyance though his body remained still on the couch. His agitation could be measured by how his quiet tapping rose into a more violent rhythm. "Only thing bitches care about is whether they're fat, ugly or whatever."

Konan didn't point out Hidan's obsession with his own appearances.

Seeing how she remained quiet, Hidan snapped out.

"Seriously, does nothing bother you?"

Konan glanced up at him from her work. Her gaze appeared wasted for despite all of his quirky and angry statements, he still appeared to be calmly staring up at the ceiling. However, if she could see his face, she'd probably notice how his brows were pulled together in exasperation.

She performed a neat fold before answering him, his tapping increased in pace as he became impatient by her response time.

"Itachi-san doesn't get bothered easily. You do not seem to pursue his attention."

"Guy is a fucking robot, you're not."

For a moment, she considers whether she should be flattered that Hidan thought of her different. The man was so ready to insult, to throw out harsh word after word that she soon realized why his opinion mattered.

The opinion of someone who really did show emotion, the opinion of the only person in Akatsuki that remained optimistic. It was a twisted optimism but even so, Hidan remained the only member who carried attachments to such frivolous things as sentiment.

She liked his view for the same reason why she liked the living room in the rain – it provided something normal, something simple.

"You don't fucking feel anything do you?" he continued.

Silently, Konan realized he must have been referring vaguely to the religion he had given himself to. But she couldn't be bothered to clarify.

In a religion that relishes pain, she wonders if it were sinful of her to remain as stoic and empty as she was. And offhandedly, she wondered if she had somehow indirectly insulted him by her passive attitude to the world around her.

And Hidan was probably too obtuse to realize the hurt of her past and the deep emotional bond with the Leader that proved that Konan was anything but emotionless.

Her feelings did not float around in the open like his did and she needed no facial expression or empty words to convey how she felt to Nagato, the one person who did matter. To all but him, she remained the statue of ice.

By her natural tendencies to remain cold and distant from all other members, she was second-in-command after all, it was no wonder that Hidan targeted her with words and glares of incredulity and vague hatred.

"Do you really fucking think that you understand pain?" Hidan continued, angry.

As stupid and meaningless as his words sounded, Konan realized it was an invitation.

When she glanced up, she realized that Hidan was standing next to her, looking down at her peaceful, kneeling position. She stood up as well, unwilling to be belittled. It did not make much a difference. As soon as you're past the twenties, age is no longer an indication of height and though Konan was far older than the young Jashinist, he stood a good ten centimetres taller. He noticed that too and his smugness grew.

It was childish. The sort of competitions she remembered doing when she was younger, forever comparing heights with Yahiko and Nagato, cheering when it appeared she would be taller before male puberty kicked in, leaving her sullen for a few months.

As her amber eyes met his violet ones, she regarded his expression with disinterest. However, she noticed his features did not hold an expectant look, more like one of daring.

His words themselves were ambiguous at best. Hidan seldom said things in such an indirect way. But Konan found herself understanding his words, realizing what he wanted. _Do you really fucking think that you understand pain?_

Mixed in his face was an expression of hope and one of disgust. Perhaps it was hope that she would accept what he was offering and the one of disgust was due to the fact he knew she would refuse and simply walk out of the room. Maybe there was even hope that she would walk out of the room.

That was why Konan surprised him when she simply gave him a straightforward easy and _complying _gaze.

"Hurt me then," she said.

His lavender eyes widened in surprise before narrowing down in genuine pleasure. A scarlet cat-like tongue, in contrast to his pale skin, emerged from his mouth, running quickly over his lower lip.

Should Konan have said that to another, that person might have said "ok" or maybe even an "are you sure?"

Hidan did not waste time with such courtesy and his fist shot out ready to damage her pristine skin, her emotionless face.

No flesh contact was made and Hidan found his hand travelling through a whirling storm of paper, knocking him off balance. Swearing, he regained his footing and stared.

His face watched with an equal mixture of anger and bemusement as the storm of white butterflies left the room.

As far as Hidan could see, Konan was just too pussy to deal with a broken jaw.

He felt a small satisfaction that he, her junior by many years was more familiar with the sting, pleasure and tear of pain.

Later on, he realized the rain had ceased the moment he swung his fist, signifying the end of their small tradition, marking the parting of ways.

Hidan found himself wondering which of the two reasons was why she left.

X.X.X

A/N

Like I said, all chapters are stand alone.

Please review! And review as well if you added an alert or favourite? Don't just leave me hanging!

So, review?

(:


	3. KakuzuPaper Stitching

A/N

Yeah, I have to apologize for this chapter beforehand. It is definitely less spiritual than the previous two because I half wanted to do humour. That's why it turned into a Frankenstein of a monster, humour and seriousness conflicting a bit too much to provide and easy read. Will you bear with it?

Oh, and Konan here is much younger, the Akatsuki has just been formed so I portrayed her as less sure of herself. Which sucks because I think people like her stoicness.

So, if you're one of those readers with odd tastes in writing, hope you enjoy this patch work monster.

And remember to review! Especially if you are one of those people who added an alert…

**Paper Stitching**

It was a dark and stormy night.

That was to say that it was night and the night was stormy.

But it was hardly considered the _right_ kind of stormy, Konan thought. The right kind of stormy would be the rain created by Nagato.

Those were the sort of nights she could tolerate because only she knew the true extent of his jutsu.

Here however, the wetness was unfamiliar and even the colour of lightning was wrong. It was too whitish, not tinged with the orangey red like the one back in Amegakure.

Still, Konan kept her calm demeanour, back ram-rod straight as she stared out at the unfamiliar terrain. It would be her first night on this mission, far away from her partner. But the Akatsuki had just started and more risks were needed to truly get the money flowing.

Maybe deep inside she might have admitted she at the moment was terrified. But seeing no relief and discovering her inner self, she forced herself to keep ignorant.

Foreign rain, not Nagato's rain was where Yahiko had been killed.

She comforted herself that she would be back with Nagato by next week, her nineteenth birthday. Then she wondered why that would comfort her because happy birthdays really were a thing of the past.

Shuddering slightly, her posture broken for a moment, she sensed a strange presence. She turned around with forced slowness. That way, she would not seem panicked.

Either her deliberation would show Konan as being a calm and unflappable, capable kunoichi or it would reveal how she really was quite stiff with apprehension in what was meant to be an old abandoned and above all, empty house.

When she finally turned around, she came face to face with a hulking, terrifying creature, wet from rain and ghastly.

She relaxed.

"Kakuzu-san," she greeted. She allowed herself to insert surprise in her tone, but kept the delight back. It has been years since she was a child, scared of the dark and thunder.

Then again, in Kakuzu's eyes, everybody was a child. She didn't like that and perhaps this small coincidental meeting would somehow change his mind about her.

Vaguely mortified, she realized that despite the war-torn years she had struggled through and the pain she shared with her friends, the feelings she had was one of a vain prideful youth, desperate to please and easily insulted.

For a long time she had thought war killed off childhood, made her grow up and understand pain. She knew pain had shaped her, made her stoic, uncaring, but because that little teenage feeling of inadequacy and low self-esteem remained, she wondered when she'll finally be rid of youth.

Seemingly surprised to see her as well, he kept his greeting to a short, curt grunt.

Despite herself, Konan felt the same sting that happened when respect was not fully given. It was true that Kakuzu was one of the more respectful members, even willing to abandon his precious money trips if Nagato ordered.

Konan however, while she felt she was certainly respected, her authority as the Leader's partner was not there and Kakuzu viewed her as he would any naïve albeit important girl.

"I just arrived," Konan said. "I haven't had time to check the upper floors for traps yet. Would you?"

She arrived six hours ago and had sat in the dark corridor for just as long, watching the shadows on the floor creep and grab at her ankles.

After awhile, she took the trouble to draw a seal across a wardrobe that seemed to be staring at her.

If Kakuzu was puzzled by her request, he didn't show it, perhaps putting it down to a young girl trying to show her dominance in a chore that really did not matter.

Neatly, he placed one foot upon the creaking steps and when he was satisfied it was not going to collapse under his weight, he continued on upwards with Konan pressing close to his heels.

_This staircase is unusually long_, Kakuzu thought.

Konan thought, _this staircase creaks an unusual amount, seems to be filled with a strange presence and the shadows seem to be clinging closer to us then is natural._

The problem was that Konan had an imagination.

Kakuzu did not.

Therefore, every flutter of the curtain, the hooting of some… creature or even the brief flashes of lightning and scream of thunder turned into a horrific plethora of sensations and images that Konan indulged in.

Kakuzu did not see the ghosts that Konan saw at every turn.

He didn't see the nail either that slit up his arm, leaving a gash from his wrist to his elbow.

"Shit," he cursed quietly, mainly from the sudden if small pain.

"Kakuzu-san," Konan had seen the dark liquid that smeared across the handrails where his arm had been and her imagination went into overdrive. However, she still had enough composure to not start whimpering. She decided that concern was okay to keep in her voice. "Are you alright?"

"Just a scratch," Konan heard the empty rough voice in the darkness.

"Konan, watch your footing, steps are uneven."

_Was that an insult of her abilities as a kunoichi?_

In truth, it wasn't an insult. An insult hints that Kakuzu knew she was a good kunoichi and decided to belittle her. Instead, it was the statement that he really didn't think she was any good.

Konan pushed that thought aside, because no matter what Kakuzu said, at least she was hearing something other than that low crying sound that came from just behind her right ear.

She heard a story awhile back, about ghosts. They say if the crying sound is loud, they are far away, and if the voice is soft, they are very close.

_Wa… wa… wa…_

The soft sound continued and Kakuzu wasn't _talking_.

Panicked, she flung her arms outwards, only to find no physical contact leaving her to trip and nearly plunge headfirst and painfully down onto the wooden rotting steps.

For a moment, she thought she could see a blurry white figure from the corner of her eyes, bloody and reaching to brush her cheek. She thought she could even see the face, a long white oval with black holes where eyes should be and a gaping mouth.

The scream that was building up from the back of her throat faded as a more physical hand gripped her elbow and roughly pulled her upwards.

She found herself leaning against his body, arms clinging desperately to his black cloak as the step which she had been on collapsed, debris falling down a lot further than she thought she climbed.

With a grunt, he managed to swing her around to his step.

There would be a time, many years in the future when Konan would look back on this memory with mortification and embarrassment. She would have that same irksome feeling even when climbing steps in the hide-out and so happened to brush by Kakuzu. She swore he would have a self-satisfied smirk behind his mask, uncharacteristic for the old miser.

However, that is the future and this is now. For the present, she was incredibly relieved. Right now, gripping his cloak in small fists and her head pressed to his chest where she could hear five hearts thudding in a not very rhythmic manner, minus the awkwardness of the moment, the crying soft voice and the brief moment of terror were gone.

Slowly, Konan, eighteen year old co-leader of a criminal organization, unclenched her fingers from his cloak and stood straight and composed once more.

"Sorry," she said, with forced stoniness.

"You might as well hold on," his green black eyes peered at the gloom ahead. "I think there are at least three flights of steps left."

Konan gripped his right sleeve with her left hand. Feeling like the little girl she was to his eyes.

He made an annoyed sound when she insisted on being on the same step he was on despite the already narrow passageway. But because Kakuzu was not much of a conversationalist, and it was quiet most of the time on that torturous journey up the stairs, Konan fancied that the crying noise had gone even softer than before.

For Akatsuki members, the partners normally have two single rooms.

This norm was breached on this particular instance for two separate reasons.

Kakuzu felt it was sensible to share a room as the house was unfamiliar territory.

Konan felt that if she stayed in a room by herself, she would be strangled by her own bed sheets.

Funny though, she thought. None of them felt like sleeping despite what undoubtedly was a very late hour.

While the rain slowed to an almost bearable growling, Konan gingerly leaned back on the mattress, avoiding going near walls that might be easily breached by spiritual forces.

Lazily, she glanced over at her unexpected companion.

He was examining the wound on his forearm with a look of disinterest. Quickly, a thin black thread stitched the two flaps of skin together again in a messy if effective way.

"I can fix that for you if you like," Konan found herself saying.

Kakuzu gave her a quiet stare.

She pulled her needle and thread out from a pocket and walked towards him. Bending down, she squinted at the blackness of the room and picked up his arm to examine the wound more closely.

Konan first attempted to cut the black threads out so she could re-sew the wound in a more delicate fashion but found her small sewing scissors not up to the task. Kakuzu realized this and obligingly pulled the threads back.

Murmuring a thanks, Konan pushed the needle through the skin and began stitching almost invisible lines.

It probably would have been easier if he took the cloak off, but the weather was cold. And from what Konan knew of the man, he wasn't too keen on showing off his other stitches that ran up his arms.

Even so, she caught a glimpse of them as she pushed his sleeve up, tips of her fingers brushing along their textured raised feel.

Kakuzu, whom she had always known to be someone who could stay still for hours at a time, shifted uncomfortably.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

His stare spoke volumes on how much that needle did not hurt.

Biting her lip, she ran her needle through his skin again until a neat white line of stitches slowly closed his wound firmly shut.

Kakuzu stared at the top of her head, with a bemused expression at the care and precision she took that he lacked.

Konan wondered if helping out with injuries were a way to gain respect. Perhaps it was demeaning for her, a combat ninja, hardly a medical one to help with injuries. Thoughts towards the enigmatic Falls Nin were common and often contradictory. The more she thought of how she could get his attention, the more she wondered on whether some of her past actions could be considered terribly unprofessional.

His threads seemed to have a sort of semi-sentience. It was easy to say Konan found the sewing difficult as thin black tentacles wormed there ways around her fingers. One extended far enough to brush the back of her hand. As her sewing neared completion, there seemed to be a passive aggressive force blocking her needle from finishing – perhaps a defence mechanism against foreign bodies.

Eventually, the black threads put too much pressure on her brittle fingers that she resorted to bringing them to paper form so that harmless paper was ripped rather than her bones shattered.

The noise seemed to wake Kakuzu from his trance and he murmured an apology, black threads retreating back into his skin.

Done with her work, she neatly ran her fingers over the smoother white thread that sealed up his cut. It stood out in stark contrast to his dark skin and thick black threading.

Finally, Konan released his sleeve, letting the black material cover the grotesque collection of stitches that adorned his body. She was surprised however, to see Kakuzu lift his sleeve again to examine her work.

A bit self-conscious but nevertheless determined not to show it, Konan got up to walk to her personal corner of the room again slow enough that she caught a quiet, "Thank you," from the miser.

Her back was facing Kakuzu now; the only way to keep time was count how long the rain was lasting. Even then, it was not reliable for the rain quickened in spurts before slowing down to a drizzle before once again slamming against the window with a vengeance.

Konan had often wondered what Akatsuki would be like. How close the members would be to their partners.

Now however, she seemed to be faced with the enigmatic shinobi, who kept distance from her. Irony, she thought. She was meant to be the one to be distant. The far-off co-leader, mysterious and from a height far above the members.

To be a God, or in her case, to be an angel was to selectively ignore.

And though in this situation, she could ignore him, the feeling she got was that the much senior shinobi was the one ignoring her.

It was at this point in the stormy rain that she realized not everybody who joined would share the ideals of Akatsuki, but would come with hidden agendas and personal vendettas.

Konan should ignore Kakuzu, treat this as the mere coincidence of a mission. However, often the most intriguing of individuals were those that remained distant from the heart with a cold detached personality.

Thinking of this, she absentmindedly strolled over to him once again, and held a black rather expensive looking box in his face.

This was quite a feat as she was now sitting cross legged and facing away from him.

"Would you like some?" she had asked.

Inside the box were some sweet biscuits of a kind. Those offered to God's Angel for good luck.

Kakuzu refused and Konan fell back onto her mattress with a sting of dejection, more severe than her own good.

Gazing at her prone form musingly, Kakuzu decided she was not like Leader. It was Leader who had recruited him, and the cold deadly aura that was his chakra burned painfully. He carried a sense of purpose, conviction.

He decided that this girl did not. She was so young, it was difficult to even imagine her doing the missions he did, killing like he did and not feel a thing just like him.

Her eyes were like a pond in winter. Water never fully freezes and the layer of ice lay on the top. Below the ice would lay sleeping fish in rather fluid water.

From experience, and he had a lot of it, he could tell that this façade of Konan's was merely that – an act. What her true nature was like, he was willing to say that it was a lot kinder that Konan wanted it to be.

A bit curiously, _though not regretfully_, he told himself firmly, he wondered if maybe he should have just accepted that damn box and spared her feelings.

There will be a day, and Kakuzu knew it to be true, that the little girl's brave act would become reality and her personality would harden and freeze to what would truly become emotionless.

Today however, was not that day.

But maybe she'll feel better when she returns to the hide-out and realizes he had stolen the biscuits right out of her pack.

X.X.X

A/N

Whew, thank you for reading. It seems all my chapters take place in the rain. That will have to change…

Please leave a review, especially if you are one of those people who alerted or favourited this story. This is called common courtesy to the author! (:

**Please, Review!**

Oh, and any ideas who you want to see next?


	4. ZetsuBlack Crane

A/N

A moment of silence if you please. To those who've read the latest manga chapter, we all know that Kisame is going to die next. And let's have a moment of grief before his death actually happens, fellow Akatsuki fans, siding with the bad guys even though we know we're going to get our hearts broken anyway because we know they'll all die in the end.

_**Just an important note:**_ I know what quotation marks are. But I'm in the middle of The Road craze and while I normally detest his lack of punctuation, I like how the dialogue goes without quotation marks.

Please review!

**Black Crane**

Kakuzu's fourth partner had been killed.

His death was more gruesome than his predecessors.

Quartered by black threads.

That left another opening in the Akatsuki.

Konan was never one to complain and she like Nagato understood the importance of finding a new suitable partner to accompany the old miser.

That was why, without complaint, she volunteered to rendezvous with the partner-to-be and Zetsu at quite a distant inn.

She was one of the fastest travellers with her jutsu, able to take where the wind takes her.

However, that had its own drawbacks. Right now, she walked slowly, buffeted by the wind. If she changed to paper in this weather, she'd never be able to pull herself together when in paper form, left scattered to the world.

While theoretically possible to use chakra to control her own wind, the chakra waste would not be worth it, especially if that new partner… wasn't so compliant in joining. And persuasion always required a bit of force.

This whole completely bitter and wretched world will come to end once Nagato's plans took fruit. And small actions took a bigger picture – Konan would never see her job as one that did not require her full enthusiasm.

Silently, she struggled forward, while unwilling to let weariness overcome her, found the harsh wind difficult to ignore. It was strong enough, and cold enough that she could feel a slight mist of raindrops brushing across her skin.

It was cold to the bone.

Konan clutched her cloak around her and bent her head forward before she became aware of another presence.

She wasn't a sensor type ninja, finding it difficult to identify shinobi by their chakra signal, an ability second nature to Nagato.

With a soft sigh swallowed up by the harsh wind, she laboriously turned around as the wind began to whip her hair into her face. On the brighter side, the weather's anger was now mostly upon her back, giving her beaten face some respite.

A dark figure was behind her and while his features were not distinguishable in the dark hissing weather, his silhouette was unmistakable.

Zetsu. She had said.

Konan.

Why are you following me? With your technique, you should be able to reach the agreed place instantly.

You don't want to go alone do you? **Pointless waiting for you.**

She turned towards the wind again and kept walking.

It's cold.

Yeah. **Not exactly our natural climate.**

The two companions were silent for a moment. It was quite a long moment. Each one of them were one of the quieter members of Akatsuki. And out of the few quiet ones there, they were the two whose quietness did not hint upon at a silent sadistic nature, but more of a spiritual one than the still silence of a killer. Konan and Zetsu did not dislike any particular member either.

That is not wholly accurate.

Konan did dislike one member, she disliked Zetsu.

He was the first member who joined, already seasoned from working with Madara before they even laid eyes upon each other.

He had a quiet nature like her, polite and humble. However, once Konan and Nagato decided that Madara's philosophy was too different form their own to keep following, Zetsu would no longer listen to them. He would go to Madara again.

And Konan hated him for that.

He wasn't loyal to Nagato.

His polite nature might not have been a sham, but his loyalty was merely a shade, the cracked imperfection of the original. Zetsu only listened because Madara asked him to.

If he were not loyal to her, she could deal with that. His disloyalty however to her God however, could not be forgiven.

A sigh would convey her feelings quite well at having a detested behind at her back… well he was walking beside her now and much too close for comfort.

She didn't sigh though, the slight stiffening of lips the only sign of her discontent. Visual cues were lost on Zetsu, his two large plant appendages blocking a great deal of his sight.

When she talked to him, she was abrupt. She was always abrupt to everybody, not liking wasted words. But she was only abrupt to Zetsu because of his obvious temporary loyalty, the one to betray her once Nagato's and Madara's vision of the world separated to turn into two different ideals. One of which was the true peace, the other, false.

Zetsu was a double agent.

And that bastard didn't even bother to hide it.

He was so open all the time, this quiet man who had no secrets. Konan's silence wasn't entirely voluntary; when one doesn't say anything, one speaks no lies. But one never tells the truth either.

Perhaps there was the slightest bit of envy there, that Zetsu had a black side to show but Konan, so suppressed and conservative, doesn't even know whether she has a black side or whether the only thing left to her was a blank façade.

The weather was getting worse. She'll probably have to stop for the night and continue on in the day. There was still time before the meeting.

When the wind stopped, she could easily fly over to the inn long before Kakuzu's new partner arrived.

She paused by a fallen tree and crouched down, huddling against the storm. Konan didn't bother to tell Zetsu she was stopping or why she was stopping like a responsible leader. What would be the point if she were only leader _now_?

Well if she were leader now, she should be responsible about it.

If Konan were honest to herself, she might have admitted that she was just sulking.

It was very cold, even with the tree taking the brunt of the icy, almost waterless wind. But when the wind split into two channels, it sliced near her body, messing up her hair that had been so immaculate hours before. The paper flower that had stayed with her through hard battles and rain blew away with the wind.

Without that, she felt a bit small, naked, especially when even paper, her paper, left her for the storm.

Actually, the wind wasn't as strong as she thought. It seemed to be getting less. Glancing behind her, she saw Zetsu sitting on the other side of the tree, his large plant bulk blocking the worst.

Konan turned away from his back and sat staring straight ahead.

If you sunk into the ground, you wouldn't be cold.

Her lips moved, but she doubted he could hear her over the wind. He could.

If I sunk into the ground, you'd be cold. **I have walked with you for this long, what makes you think I mind the cold?**

Konan wanted to enquire about the statement he made before. The one about cold not being his natural climate. She didn't know what he would say.

Konan didn't enquire, and she never did find out what Zetsu's reply would have been.

But she realized that of the two terse exchanges she made with him, despite her dislike for him, she was the one who had initiated them in the first place.

Why talk to someone she disliked? She supposed she wished to see him beg for attention. But the anticipation for his voice built so much that it was she that snapped first.

He wouldn't ask for attention though, he didn't really care no matter how much she did.

She didn't want him to betray Nagato.

She wished he never even worked for Madara.

He didn't care.

But, it was warmer. Shielded by his plant appendages, it wasn't as windy either.

Konan woke slightly later than she thought she would. Zetsu hadn't disturbed her. He sat, still at the same position she saw him in last night, eyes wide open.

You should have woken me.

Sorry.

The rest of the journey was uneventful. It was fast. Both Akatsuki members easily got to the point of rendezvous using their respective jutsu.

That means they separated for awhile.

Konan wondered if she liked that or not. Was it appropriate for her to let a subordinate leave? She would treat Zetsu like he really did belong to her rather than the Uchiha.

If she had liked, she could have simply walked the rest of the way there with him. And, even knowing how the black side was known for his impatience, she knew he would have said yes.

The inn was one neatly allied with the Akatsuki. There were always reserved rooms. Zetsu never got a room, him never needing a bed.

And now, there was one day left before the replacement should arrive. Konan sat at one of the wooden tables, observing the rough grains that created that certain piece of furniture.

She ran fingers on its surface before making light traces with her nails.

An activity typical of boredom.

And then Zetsu came.

He emerged from the wall next to her before making his way to the opposite side of the table before taking a seat. Konan asked him what he thought he was doing.

He isn't coming till tomorrow.

**We know.**

Again, there was that little pause that occurs in conversations. The silence is normally uncomfortable but this time, the two people involved in the conversation wore silence like a second skin, albeit for different reasons.

She wished he would talk, initiate the conversation, and make her seem less desperate for his loyalty. And he did.

Can you make a flower? They're really pretty.

She didn't answer him through words, but pulled out a sheet of white paper from somewhere within her sleeves.

Flowers were harder to make than cranes, but to Konan, neither shape was really that difficult.

A white flower soon lay before her and Zetsu.

He seemed surprised.

**I'm surprised you listened to me. **That's a nice flower.

There would be no point in not listening. There's nothing wrong with you.

You don't like me much. **You despise me.**

Konan thought about it. Perhaps if the story had been a bit different, perhaps if she had feelings whether romantic or platonic towards him, she might have denied it, denied this hatred she felt but never showed. She had no black side to show it.

So she let her white side do the talking.

What is the point of your line of questioning? Do my feelings matter to you? They are completely separate from what business Nagato and Madara do together. So what does it matter if each of us, second-in-command to our own leaders, despise each other?

She decided to use his black side's words. Much less mild than what his white side had said. She also realized she said too much. Broke the quiet too thoroughly and revealed that she felt no indifference towards him, that she cared.

I don't hate you, Konan-san.

But I don't like you, Zetsu. And I already said, what does it matter so long as we reach our goals?

He didn't respond to her question directly. But it was meant as a rhetorical question anyway so Konan didn't mind.

**Can I have that flower?**

She pushed it towards him and watched as both black and white hands felt the tips of the white paper gently.

Zetsu had unusually soft fingers, a testament to his fighting style which was never physical. He didn't need hands for battle.

Konan thought that that was the end of it and he would just leave, admittedly leaving her feeling even hollower than before. But she wouldn't admit that. It wasn't even as though she liked his company that she would rather he stayed.

No, she wouldn't want him to stay, she'd rather feel hollow and blank, the white side without her black.

Zetsu stayed though, and he spoke.

Your flowers are all white. **All the paper you use is white. **Why not other colours? I've seen some very pretty paper that they sell around the place. **Why not black?**

Konan glanced at her hand as she slowly let it furl and unfurl into paper and back into hand again.

It's a waste of money.

**You sound like Kakuzu.**

Perhaps.

So why do you use white all the time? Paper comes in many colours. **Do you come in other colours? Or are you just a blank person? We know: everyone has a black side.**

This was pure insubordination. Wasn't Zetsu supposed to be the always loyal subordinate? So why of all times was he questioning her? Maybe even going against Madara's wishes that he help them as best he can until the inevitable parting of ways.

I… don't… know about myself… But, I can say it is easier to fold white. My jutsu automatically uses white paper. It's natural.

Zetsu was silent, obviously displeased with her answer. Perhaps he expected her to be more philosophical. More the Konan he thought and knew she was, than the blank shell she always used.

If she left now, he would never pursue her again. She knew that deep within her bones.

So she didn't leave.

Konan peeled another square of paper off the back of her hand.

This one was black.

She folded it into another flower, identical to the white one she just made and pushed it to him.

This flower is for you. You can keep both.

Zetsu fingered both black and white flowers.

They're both pretty.

Thank you.

**So you can change the colour of your paper.** Give me a piece too?

Konan handed him a white sheet wordlessly, making it clear that she was simply humouring him with the black flower and that it was definitely a onetime thing.

Zetsu made a crane.

I didn't know you knew origami.

Really? I'm not that great. **It's a crane. Anybody can fold a crane.**

I see.

There was another one of those silences that now hinted that the topic would soon be shifted once again.

Konan-san.

Yes?

**Have you heard of self-actualization? It is the ultimate goal of humanity. **

Your goal?

I've already achieved it.

So you are still human then?

Zetsu ignored her comment. The comment might have seemed thoughtless, but Konan meant this one to hurt and so, it was actually quite a thoughtful phrase.

**Self-actualization is when your outer self reflects your inner self. You have these dark desires, things you'll never tell anybody, the things that make you feel misunderstood, angry at the world. Things you fear.**

The wretched world, Konan said.

She was familiar with those feelings, but her teenage years have long gone past and she had long gotten over the existential angst that came with it. Therefore, her words held no bitterness.

**Once the you that you show others reflects the you on the inside, you have achieved self-actualization.**

Maybe I already have.

**You aren't showing a black side.**

Maybe I don't have one.

**Everyone has one. **But I don't want to help them.I want to help you. **Unlike others, you haven't felt anything for so long that you have forgotten to know yourself.**

Silently, Zetsu passed her the white crane he made, white as the snow that had just begun to fall outside. New snow.

She held it cupped in her hands. Cranes were easy to make, difficult to get wrong.

He was right though. It wasn't an empty feeling she felt within herself, but more of something unfamiliar. Konan didn't know herself.

You are quite talkative today.

Yeah.

You know I don't like you.

Yeah.

So, why bother?

I like you Konan-san. When that time comes, **I assure you it won't be personal.**

Zetsu got up from the table, carefully taking both the white and black flowers she had made for him. He paused before he walked away and said something to Konan.

I'll help you. **Someday I'll make you a black crane.**

Until then.

X.X.X

A/N

Well, remember to review! Please do so, it motivates me to write! And please review, especially if you have added this story on your alert list or favourite list. Otherwise, it's just being rude…

Please Review!


	5. KisameShark and Ham

A/N

Very different from last chapter. This one is less spiritual based and more humorous. So I guess your mileage varies. Sorry if the sudden change of tone affects you! Especially if it's told in more of Kisame's point of view than Konan's.

Oh and I guess this chapter can be considered a prequel to Girl Talk. Madara's chapter with Konan might be connected to this chapter as well. The only two chapters in this story that might have something to do with each other.

**Shark and Ham**

There weren't any women in the Akatsuki, Kisame could say that for sure.

Well, correction: There weren't any women that were available for romantic relationships.

Correction: Less than romantic relationships… they'll still involve the touching bit but without the romance. Yeah.

Because everyone here was so damned deprived.

Actually, he seemed to be the only one complaining.

Deidara, despite being eighteen seemed to take more pleasure in his art. Sasori couldn't feel desire. Itachi seriously did not seem to care at all. Kakuzu thought they were a waste of money. Kisame didn't see much of Zetsu to know what he thought of the matter but seeing dismembered limbs in his room gave him some idea. Hidan liked women… he liked virgins… in pieces… within a circle drawn in blood.

Who else did Kisame miss?

Well, Leader-sama had Konan. Konan was straight, and To- wait, how did he know she was straight? Whatever…

And Tobi didn't know what a "female" was so there was absolutely no way swirl face understood the frustrations Kisame was going through.

Even though Kisame was about as attracted to Konan as was a shark would be to paper, he couldn't resist giving her a little sniff as she walked down the corridor past him.

There was no real romantic or even lustful meaning. But the whole base stunk of sweat, testosterone, exploding clay and blood all the time that the nice clean smell of a woman would really help.

It was a pity that Konan did not smell like what Kisame thought she would.

Konan should have a sweet floral scent. Maybe lavender. The kind of lavender that gets pressed into tissue fine paper and sold for a ridiculously expensive price. Funny how simple stationery could be so damn expensive.

Maybe that's why Konan, despite what he thought to be unremarkable abilities, was somehow so highly prized by the organization.

She was just paper. But paper could be expensive.

But yes, she did not smell of that light lavender scent he had envisioned.

Konan, classy stoic and graceful Konan, smelled like ham.

It was all wrong somehow.

This kinda gross but really delicious meat smell seemed to saturate her fingers.

Her hair didn't smell like much, but when Kisame detected that food smell from somewhere of her vicinity, he realized it oozed out of her fingers.

Nobody else noticed it but him. Maybe his sense of smell was far more astute than the others, but how could they fail to notice this weird and cloying ham smell from Konan?

He tried to let them know through subtle means in case they would think he was insulting Leader-sama's precious partner. And then they'd rat out on him. And then he'd get his limbs chopped off.

"Itachi-san, ham you seen Konan lately?"

"She's probably with Leader-sama."

Alright, so that was one fail. Especially since the Uchiha did not notice his incredibly witty pun.

His second fail came when he asked Tobi whether he had ever held hams with Konan before.

His third fail came when Kisame, quite short tempered because of the urgency of finding out whether he was he only sane man in Akatsuki, asked politely whether anyone else had fucking noticed that Konan smelled of ham.

It wasn't fail because someone decided to tell Leader-sama to carve him a new set of gills, but mainly because his scream was heard only by Samehada and everyone else was either out on a mission or out purposely not being sexually deprived to spite Kisame.

Or both.

Fighting was always interesting. Each battle, each new opponent to find, and that was all Kisame lived for. The joy of blood until Samehada's bandages soaked red.

Cleaning was a bitch though. It was nice that Samehada ate the bits of flesh left between her teeth, leaving him the job of picking out shredded bandages. It was still delicate work. Not that it was boring.

Now however, on the quiet moments that were left aside for self-reflection on what he actually realized had the potential to be an extremely angsty past, he spent his time tailing Konan through the hideout to find out where such a lovely specimen could have found a scent more suited for a grease stained fat man.

It wasn't difficult to tail her. Stalk might be a better word.

Konan often just sat in the living room area. It wasn't hard to sit there with her.

They never said anything. Kisame wanted to at least hold a conversation. But such wants were easily ignored as he was unfortunate enough to be one of the chattier members of Akatsuki.

There was nobody to talk to aside from light humorous banter with his soon-to-be victims.

And even then, his victims hardly thought his quick wit to be very funny. It's quite hard to when your opponent is a grinning blue shark. And now that you were distracted by his sharp teeth, he had just shaved your legs to ribbons of flesh and bone. They didn't think that was very funny either.

They never found him funny.

So conversations eventually died.

Kisame resorted to living off death threats as his social source.

At times if an enemy gurgled a "fuck you", he considered his social life adequate.

Sometimes, they blessed him with a "fuck you! Freaking blue shark man! Wait till I slit your throat and make you into shark fins soup!"

Those were good days. When death threats were more than a sentence long. That way, he could at least claim to have some sort of social life, even with enemies who were going to die from facing him, the monster of the hidden mist.

All Akatsuki members had single rooms.

Each room, despite what seemed to be a sincere effort to make them all boring and drab had their own little quirks to them, their own smells.

Konan's room did smell like lavender.

So when the slight lilt of that scent reached his nose late one night, he realized that the girl was headed off some place.

It could have been a mission, it could have been to see Leader.

Or, it could be her going to saturate herself in the smell of ham.

It was probably pointless to go sneaking after a trained kunoichi. Feasibly, he could merge with Samehada to disguise himself if not his chakra signature, but somehow he figured that a stalking sword was more suspicious then him.

Oh what the hell, Kisame creaked his door open after cautiously waiting for a few seconds and followed the blue haired girl.

If she noticed him, she didn't show it.

Padding as gently as he could despite his weight and bulk, he followed Konan's louder sweeping footsteps to the pantry and caught a glimpse of the girl opening the fridge.

The kitchen itself was dark. The triangle of light from the fridge the sole light source before Konan closed it, leaving the room once again filled with darkness.

Kisame would have reached for the light switch but heard a sputter and a pop as a flame flit itself into existence.

Now that he had a view of the room, glowing orange, he saw Konan with a huge slice of ham in front of her.

She had stuffed her hands into the meat before bringing it to her mouth to tear off a piece.

Amazingly, despite the crude words he used to describe her eating habits, she somehow made eating ham look almost as awe inspiring as her origami skills. Eating ham so delicately and yet somehow still so sloppily was an art.

She was using her bare hands for fuck's sake!

And then, he realized she had stopped eating and was looking at him.

Looking at him rather pointedly as if he were the one who had done something wrong and that she was not currently pigging herself out on ham.

"Do you need anything?" her tone was not welcoming, a bit sharp without the slightest hint of embarrassment.

Knowing the stoic emotionless Konan, the fact that her tone was actually disapproving, meant that she probably was as embarrassed as hell to resort to sharpness of tongue to hide her discomfort.

"Care to share some of that food?"

Yeah, perhaps he should have just gone back to his bloody room to sleep now that he found out why Konan smelled of ham. Honestly, he should have figured it out himself. She smelled of ham because she ate ham with her bare fingers. Duh.

But instead, here he was asking to share in her gluttony.

Konan didn't answer, but that wasn't unexpected so he intruded upon her graciousness, dragging a spare chair over, screeching noises leaving harsh scratches on what used to be a perfectly tiled floor.

He didn't care much for ham so he didn't actually take any, just gazing over at Konan.

Konan.

Who was suppose to be all stoic and high above all else. He never expected her to be eating anything. Wasn't she suppose to be an angel?

Even more surprising was that his regard for her hasn't lessened even if it had warmed up a bit to the petite female.

Hell, everyone had some weird quirks. Between Zetsu's cannibalism and Kakuzu's mask babies, honestly, the midnight craving to eat ham was hardly considered bizarre.

"So, when will we be done with our goals?" he enquired casually.

She fixed an amber gaze to him. Her eyes were a warm colour, but they gave the feeling of cool indifference. The sort of feeling normally reserved for black eyes, or those of a colder complexion.

"It just takes patience," Konan had replied ambiguously.

Patience wasn't exactly the answer to when the goals were done. Kisame also knew that every member had their own reasons for joining, him included.

What the Leader and his loyal partner wanted could be very different from what was promised.

Kisame was used to silences. But now that he had the chance to break one and not suffer from an Uchiha glare…

He decided to move on to a more forbidden topic.

"So is this eating ham thing a depression kinda urge? Like when females start bawling and eating ice cream or something?"

Konan gave another warm cool gaze.

"The ice cream in the fridge is Deidara's I believe."

Kisame could have sworn the ice queen was almost cracking a smile at his insubordination. Either she too wanted to talk to normal company, or Kisame was an incredibly attractive young gentleman.

Yeah, he'd stick to the former.

And he didn't mind.

"Heh, that guy is practically a woman anyway."

"I just like ham."

"Yeah, no problem with that."

"It's not a depression thing."

"Like I said, no problem with that, lady."

She gave him another gaze. He didn't like that so much. Her gazes were always so cool, so superior that they were so obviously _fake. _

He bet that right now, she would be wanting to butcher him with a glare.

But no, her expression was either a blank mask, or one with the air of superiority and pride.

"I guess the Akatsuki is a bit gloomy… so if you are depressed or anything…" his lips spread into a grin designed to infuriate but was only rewarded by another cool gaze.

Though that probably meant she was pissed.

"Yes? What if I'm depressed?" A hint of sarcasm crept into her voice as she humoured him.

Success.

"It's always good to think of the happier times here," he wasn't serious and made no attempt to show it.

A perfect eyebrow raised as Konan spared him a glance. Then, losing interest she stared down at the plump pink pig flesh on her plate.

Akatsuki was a gloomy organization. Maybe Kisame and the rest thought it happier because of Tobi, but she knew who Tobi was and he was hardly the "life of the party" or someone she would describe as "fun" or "lovable". Gloomy Uchihas… though he added a certain caustic streak to his otherwise depressing personality. Refreshing? Not really.

Kisame continued. He was used to keeping up his side of the conversation.

"Remember the time when Kakuzu sold Hidan's organs as part of his illegal kidney harvesting? He kept ripping off his kidneys whenever they regenerated that he actually had spares leftover that he kept in the kitchen's fridge. They're still in there."

The ham was looking less appetizing. It also seemed to bear a slight resemblance to Hidan's kidneys.

Konan glanced up at him again.

"That was hardly considered a happy time."

"Haw, it's what you make of it."

He was still unsatisfied.

The only new emotion that she had shown aside from boring blankness was discontented sarcasm.

And he didn't even think sarcasm counted as an emotion.

In a way, it was almost a sport to get Konan to show something other than apathy and like all other game players before him, he had failed. What he did succeed in was pulling more than one sentence out of her.

Kisame realized that she was as deprived of nonsensical non-mission based conversations like he was. It wasn't sexual deprivation that irritated him but the fact that nobody could have a decent conversation of mundane things.

Maybe if he caught her out on another midnight snack round, he'd talk to her about happier things as well. Like methods of hot spring spying. And if dear cold Konan wasn't a pervert… well she'd either convert or deal with him.

Konan slid her chair back without permanently marring the kitchen tiles like Kisame had before taking the ham and placing it back in the fridge.

She also washed her hands so that when she walked past Kisame, her hands smelled of fresh lemon and laundry.

A bit improvement, one that he would like to think was caused by him. Because clearly, before talking to him she had no idea about personal hygiene.

"Maybe we'll have another talk," he said seriously. Enough talks and she'd eventually show something other than apathy right?

"If you'd like," she had replied before sweeping out of the room.

Sure the conversations Kisame had were with the cloying scent of ham and over a dim flickering candle. But… the shark man grinned, tucking both hands behind his head as he tilted his chair back, he really didn't mind.

X.X.X

A/N

Hope you enjoyed that one! This was a hard chapter to write because I had no idea what to use Kisame for. I still have no idea… This chapter came slowly unlike the other ones where I was actually bitten by a plot bunny. Not all chapters have the same tone…

Between Itachi and Deidara, who would you rather see next chapter?

And remember, please review! Especially if you're one of those people who have added this story to their alerts or favourites! To do otherwise would be just plain rude…

Please review!


	6. DeidaraFlash Paper

A/N

Please review! **Especially if you are one of those people who have added this story as a favourite and/or alert! Review?**

**Flash Paper**

It was widely known (at least in the organization) that Deidara did not join the Akatsuki of his own free will.

He seemed to perform his duties willingly though, or at least to those people who have not seen his attitude before.

Two of those people well versed with his "attitude" in his beginning dawning days of what would be a career that would eventually end in a bang. One of "those people" was Akasuna no Sasori. The other one was Konan.

Why was the other person Konan?

Because she ended up doing a lot of dirty work due to her nature that could almost be called "nice".

The girl's first encounter with his "attitude" occurred early one morning. A Friday. Eight in the morning.

Sasori came back from a mission scheduled with his new partner. Alone.

"Dead already?" Konan had asked.

Sasori couldn't shrug easily in his Hiruko shell but Konan could easily imagine him doing it.

"The brat didn't want to go, so he locked himself in the broom cupboard."

_What?_

Then, the puppet ambled went past her leaving the "dirty work" in her hands.

Administration was always the dirty work.

In the Akatsuki, she has participated in burning down villages, torturing for information, and massacres. Apparently, other members have participated in rape, though that was just a rumour… that was best left un-investigated.

But still, despite all the work she has done for the greater good, each night she has slept with sins on her mind, all she could think about that the hardest job in her God's organization – administration.

Sasori couldn't care less whether he had a partner or not. He wouldn't be bothered with Deidara's recalcitrant behaviour.

The only person that had to be bothered… would be her.

It was her job as co-leader, to ensure order.

And order shall come, she thought, glancing over at the locked broom cupboard.

Her steps were not intimidating, but calm and measured as though freeing Akatsuki members from small enclosed spaces by force was an everyday occurrence.

She rattled the knob without much hope.

It was locked

Next, she tried to insert a paper key into the lock, the paper becoming the perfect copy to the cupboard's key that was long lost in Orochimaru's gullet after he fled. Probably his idea of spite, swallowing a "much needed" key.

It seemed that Deidara had stuck some kind of gummy substance in the keyhole rendering it useless.

She sniffed at it.

Wet… heady smell… probably clay.

"Deidara-san? This insubordination is not to be tolerated. Please come out."

She nearly said "Please come out of the closet" but realized that there were very unfortunate implications to that sentence.

Konan expected a rude reply, expected there to be a fight where another member-to-be would die, adding to Kakuzu's ridiculous pile of bodies.

Instead, she saw the door creak slowly open, and she came face to face with a simple blue eye.

"You're a girl, un!"

He sounded incredulous.

Not quite sure how to respond to that as she had underestimated his maturity level, she settled for a look carefully calculated to show her disdain.

Then, Deidara slowly opened the door fully and stepped out.

He was much younger than she expected.

What did she expect?

Not a teenager.

Surely she shouldn't be surprised, having already encountered Itachi, Uchiha prodigy whose talent clearly outshone hers…

He crept out, past her and appeared to be heading over to his room. Her hand grabbed him by the collar. If there was one good thing about the bulky black cloak, it was that the collars were very grab-able.

"You will participate in every assignment given to you or face Leader's extreme displeasure."

"Let go, un…"

And when she calmly did not relent, he agreed furiously, placing his hand upon her face in order to dislodge her.

In the future, he never did that again. He would know whose partner she was. But ignorant now, he continued shoving against her head before she finally released when he swore that his insubordination would be left behind.

But watching him shuffle off to his room, Konan smirked.

Smirks weren't all reserved for the cool aloof men of Akatsuki.

She was a bit surprised at the strange thought she just had, but she wondered how many first kisses he might have stolen ever since stealing that kinjutsu and becoming a missing-nin.

Did he realize it?

X.X.X

The incident with the cupboard was the longest exposure to Deidara Konan had ever experienced.

He was very much like his art, coming and going, rarely in the base.

Konan only saw him on rare quick intervals, but each meeting with him always had that powerful quirk that practically defined his personality.

X.X.X

**Chemistry**

Yesterday, he complained about how her art was unchanging, as boring and as fake as his danna's art.

Today, she walked into her room and it was burning.

White cranes that hung from her ceiling flashed for precisely a second, a brilliant red colour before the grey soft ash crumpled onto the carpeting.

He said she was lucky she saw it.

_Flash Paper, un, _he had said. _Combined when nitric acid creates a highly unstable explosive…_

Then he walked out of her room, and complimented her art.

X.X.X

**Sideways**

She fought alongside him once. Just once.

The battle itself did not last long, but the waiting did.

Right now, as they stood back by back surrounded by literally thousands of enemy shinobi, she could feel his energy simply radiating throughout the entire field. His chakra, fully unleashed, gave the sense of an explosive force when there was none, in contrast to her calmer energy.

Both stood in battle-ready positions, the cool superior stances of Akatsuki members abandoned in favour of a crouched stance. His knees were bent, hands stuffed into pouches, pushing his cloak back. She stood, folds of paper between her index and middle fingers on both hands, ready to become razor sharp shuriken upon her whim.

Their backs faced each other, the most logical stance when surrounded.

Deidara gave a mad grin. The hot air smelled of blood and iron. And their hair and cloaks blew wildly in the miniature dust storm.

"This," he said. "This is the back to back badass moment."

In the face of overwhelming numbers, his confidence grew.

"Relish it, un."

X.X.X

**Boom, baby!**

Deidara looked agitated.

He searched around the kitchen.

His frantic movements tolerated by those having breakfast.

Ignored, he made snappy comments to each member claiming that conflicting chakras had messed up his new camouflage mine technique and how he spent the whole of last night looking for it.

Konan and Itachi, on some psychic link, left the room at the same time, their premonition of doom a bit stronger than usual.

And then, the blueberry jam jar exploded.

X.X.X

**Swap**

She saw him make an origami crane.

The medium was clay with details incised with the tip of a sharp fingernail to form the lines that represented folds of paper.

Seeing her, he squashed it in his hand, mumbling about how clay was more aerodynamic then paper anyways.

X.X.X

**Tag-along**

The day Sasori died and Deidara received Tobi as a partner, Konan thought that he really did fit in the Akatsuki extremely well.

Because with Ma- Tobi as his partner, he did obtain the cold superior aura that Itachi and Nagato so often carried with them.

His smirk improved as well.

X.X.X

**Mirrored**

When Konan was younger, just by looking at Hanzo, she could feel the difference in battle experience.

Feel the helplessness of being faced by a shinobi stronger than she was and faced with the prospect of her death.

By Hanzo's stare, she realized the big difference in power and cowered. He dominated her mind.

It used to bother her that Deidara saw that in her too.

It bothered her even more that when he turned eighteen, he no longer did.

X.X.X

A/N

Hope you enjoyed this one!

Why the unusual format?

Someone gave me a request (Yea, I take requests) with some random words awhile ago…

So please review! Even if it is just one word… it is fine!

Please review!


	7. ItachiManipulating Failures

A/N

I apologize for this chapter. Itachi's chapter should be filled with awesomeness. But your author here just got possessed by what she shall call the ghost of economics and is now compelled to write about things related to economics that probably only people who have studied that dark art shall understand.

So I apologize for this crack fic.

**Manipulating Failures**

Itachi stared at Konan.

Konan stared at Itachi.

They were playing the "hide your movement game". The hideout was so small and everybody in it was such an elite ninja that it was impossible to cover your activities. Konan herself knew that at one am on Monday, Hidan squashed a cockroach on the way to grab water, steak… baked medium rare judging from the way it sounded when he picked it up… from the fridge. She sensed his activities while sleeping no less and her ultra ninja subconscious transmitted her that information once she woke up.

By remaining perfectly still, you could limit the amount of speculation of why you were in the kitchen talking to another member who wasn't your partner like it was _normal_ or something. Though admittedly, unless they were behind the door, they wouldn't be able to hear what you were saying. So they always assumed conversations to be either scandalous or perverted.

Both sat opposite each other in the pantry, red eyes to yellow eyes.

Silent people like talkative companions.

What is the point of silence if there is nobody to fill it with noise?

No… no point at all.

People think there are comfortable silences when two quiet people sit together. Instead, the "comfortable silence" becomes an uncomfortable staring contest. In some unfortunate cases, there can also be an uncomfortable build up of sexual tension.

This was one of the more fortunate cases.

Though it was unfortunate in the fact that Itachi decided to break the silence with a sensitive serious question.

Konan wished that he was not a serious person and that a talkative person broke the silence instead. It would have made things less awkward.

"You never wanted to be a ninja."

Her yellow eyes glanced up from under her eyelashes. It could have been a move of seduction if not for the distrust that lined her features. Blue eye shadow spread across her eye lids gave the image of sunken eyes. Old eyes. No point in arguing against his statement. It was true and he knew she knew it.

Therefore, she parted her lips in a bitter if playful manner, and spoke.

"You never wanted to be part of Akatsuki."

A low blow.

He seemed to have joined willingly. Seemed to be closer to Konan and Pein than the rest.

After all, only they three knew what lay behind Tobi's mask.

Itachi was unaffected in body language.

"I won't tell if you won't."

And despite herself, Konan almost smiled.

His word choice was deliberately interesting, the sort of thing a boy might say to his best mate, the creation of a childhood pact.

"I won't tell if you won't," she repeated.

He smirked.

"Then I won't."

The first time Konan had seen Itachi was before she had found the advantages of keeping a cool stoic head in light of the chaos the world often found itself in. She was more open and made sure Itachi knew that. Of course, "open" for Konan was probably "reserved" for most people. The key phrase is "more open".

They were in the pantry. Nagato had not told her about Madara's plans or even what the legendary Uchiha looked like. She assumed he did not like her to get too close to messy politics and in many ways she was right.

Therefore, when Tobi ran past the corridor screaming some idiot thing when she and Itachi were having a very pleasant cup of tea, she had sincerely agreed with what she now knew to be a sarcastic statement.

"Thank goodness we aren't related or anything," Itachi had said, mockery evident in his voice.

Konan had actually properly believed him. At that point in time, she did not realize the "Tobi" persona was a sham.

And now, here they were again, in a pantry… and each had accused the other of some undesirable traits.

"By your statement, you try to manipulate me," she said bluntly. What other reason for threatening her with information about her reasons for being a ninja?

_Because Nagato and Yahiko wanted to… so I wanted to… _

The Uchiha inclined his head in agreement.

"Yes, but I never claimed to be a master manipulator. I cannot say that I am good at it, so it is no real shame to be caught," he eyed her knowingly. "You aren't much of a puppeteer either are you, Konan-san?"

She wasn't.

"It doesn't matter, it appears we work for those that excel in that particular art."

Nagato was surprisingly good at getting what he wanted.

So was Madara.

"Kakuzu always gets Hidan to do what he wants eventually," Itachi continued thoughtfully.

"When Sasori was still with us, Deidara obeyed him."

"And now Deidara follows the whims of Tobi…"

"Kisame follows you," Konan pointed out.

Itachi waved a perfectly manicured hand dismissively, "Out of respect, not out of any clever influences I might hold over him."

Konan got up to prepare some tea, ignoring the carefully laid out ingredients for sandwiches placed on the counter.

The co-leader might make you tea if you did not ask outright, but as many had found out, Konan in her own way was a closet feminist and she would not make you a sandwich.

Konan – She won't make you a sandwich.

Of course certain members did try to get her to make one. Ironically, it wasn't to make fun of her but merely for the fact that she was closest to the sandwich table and "please just make a god damn sandwich because I'm freaking hungry, just came back from a mission where I faced some sword wielding bastard and now I have no fucking hands to make a sandwich with."

She slipped her hands in long Akatsuki sleeves before picking up her hot mug of tea. The thick fabric prevented her from burning herself.

Maybe she would have made tea for Itachi but watching him staring with a look of deadpan apathy at a glass of water for the past six hours is a turn off for such activities.

"You know," she mused, half to Itachi, half to herself and half to whoever might be listening. Where did the extra half come from? Who cares… "It is rather a shame that such an important trait of being a ninja is completely unknown to us."

She glanced at him, surprised to see his Sharingan staring at her. She thought that the glass of water held more interest to Itachi than a woman.

"However, Itachi-san, I am still under the suspicion that you do not lack in that field."

"You openly admit that you are inferior to most ninjas, including me for lacking in any talent of manipulation?"

Konan paused, contemplated the consequences, and realized that the satisfaction of beating Itachi in an argument far surpassed any dangers she might face for openly admitting her flaws.

"Yes."

Disinterested, he dropped the conversation.

Konan, was not exactly pleased.

"Itachi-san, why not we have a small contest? Whoever gets their superior to… complete a task shall then be the winner," she suggested. "Manipulation at its finest."

"That's too easy," Itachi's need for argument and logical debate won out against his antisocial nature. "You could just ask them to fetch something for you, and you know they would because that kind of task is too small."

"Let's make a harder test then… How about if we convince them to let another member join Akatsuki? A member that is utterly useless, more so than even Madara's façade Tobi."

Her voice was sarcastic. Konan, already realizing that the whole point of the conversation was talking just to fill the silence that annoyed them both, also realized that she was terrible in being a talkative person. She was awkward. What else is there to add? Just that silences were even more awkward than her fumbled attempts at being social.

Itachi ignored her and took a sip of the glass of water in front of him.

He made a face and sighed. He waited so long before drinking that there was a distinct layer of dust that covered the surface of the water.

The Uchiha prodigy placed the cup back on the table with a soft tap.

"Alright, let's do it."

X.X.X

"Nagato."

"Konan," Deva path turned slowly. Her company was always more than welcome but her presence was surprising especially since she had just left the room to oversee her duties with the Amegakure citizens. "What brings you here?"

"I have been thinking of ways to increase the Akatsuki's efficiency and influence. I would like you to hear some of my ideas."

Pein smirked, though not in an unkind fashion, "You sound like a nicer and politer form of Kakuzu."

At this, Konan's lips twitched, though her expression remained stony. "A more attractive form as well."

Deva path agreed.

"So," he said as he walked closer to Konan. "What are you planning?"

She was probably going to regret this, and it was not the smartest thing to do but it has been ages since the carefree days of childhood and when she could just speak to Nagato about the most frivolous of things.

"We need a new member of Akatsuki."

"Oh? And what would be the benefits of that? This isn't like you Konan."

He was being playful now, in that serious deadpan way of his. No laughter or joking tone. But she was used to that. Or should be.

"To be honest, it would be better if we began to hire less skilled ninja to our cause."

"But less skilled ninja do less work."

"Yes, but you see, their comparative advantage is higher than ours. Take for example the fact that when I'm on an assassination mission, I could in fact be doing something like a tracking mission. There are a lot of other things I can be doing. But a less skilled ninja will not have so many options, thus they have a much lower opportunity cost. There are many other alternative options when I am on a mission. For them, any alternatives of theirs are severely limited through skill level. Therefore, it shall actually be advantageous of us to recruit less skilled shinobi or kunoichi to our organization."

"Konan?"

"Yes Nagato?"

"You've been talking to Kakuzu too much."

"So about my deci-"

"No."

X.X.X

"Madara."

The man wearing an orange swirled mask glanced up from an equally orange book.

Itachi continued, "We need more people in this organization."

A small pause.

"No."

"Hn."

"Hn."

X.X.X

Both Itachi and Konan found themselves back in the pantry a bit sooner than what they probably hoped. None of their situations had exactly gone very well.

"No luck."

"Hn."

"It seems that both of us cannot exactly claim to be perfect ninjas then."

Itachi shrugged though there was a definite depression of atmosphere.

Konan sighed lethargically, giving a glance to the dust filled cup of water that motivated Itachi to begin his little challenge with her.

It was all very… downing and miserable.

So, when Itachi asked for a sandwich…

She did what he wanted.

And Konan briefly wondered whether he really was just a manipulating bastard after all.

X.X.X

A/N

R.I.P (rest in pieces) Kisame, you shall be sorely missed. Now that was a very ninja way to die.

Reviews are pretty much love…


	8. MadaraWhimsical Impulse

**Whimsical Impulse**

_Smile for the sun with no care in the mind._

_The world would probably be better off if he had died with it. Despite his persuasive nature, his manipulating words, he had no hold over her. She hated him._

_That must be why she thought of him so much. From hatred, not from that dreadful pull known as fascination._

X.X.X

It always gave her a shock when she saw him with her other colleagues.

He laughed with what seemed like true happiness. She had never seen him laugh so innocently when he was with her or Pein. Perhaps he'd give a dark chuckle, but never laugh with the openness of a five year old like he did now.

He was friendly. There was a certain magnetism to him. One that filled you with either annoyance or the urge to humour and befriend him. His optimism filled the room, chased the shadows away from those dark corners and for a time, just for a time, made others feel they really were worth more than disposal tools.

It was difficult not to love him.

But it was also difficult not to hate him once he was alone with her and Pein. When the sinister chakra began to unwind, that left Konan feeling cold and… perhaps frightened. All guises of good innocent Tobi was gone and it was at those moments that Konan hated him the most.

There was anger yes, she felt that tight knob in her stomach, willing her to lash out at him. He pretended for everyone but her, and they bought it.

But there was always that time, when he was messing around with Deidara, riling everyone up and jumped around with a playfulness that belonged to a much younger person when she felt she could actually love him for it. Not love in the romantic sense, indeed she was far too jaded to even comprehend such frivolous benefits, but love in that he personified the good of the organization.

When she saw tortures, when she burned villages, her actions needed to be justified. What set Akatsuki apart from other thugs? Perhaps it was Tobi.

Except she knew it wasn't really him because she knew who he really was and then the illusion of kindness disappeared. But even so, his antics were restricted to only those not in the leadership position. Konan and Pein were never at the brunt of Tobi's benevolence.

Even if she were in the same room as he when another of her colleagues was there, she would be ignored. Not out of spite, but what seemed to be "Tobi's respect for women". He never bothered Itachi either. For obvious reasons.

There really was no point in acting stupid towards those who do know you.

And it wasn't far-fetched that even Tobi wouldn't bother the Leader's girl or the Uchiha prodigy. Nobody could be that dim-witted after all.

So it was on a storming day when all rain sounded like white static, her opinion of him was changed. It wasn't clear whether it was changed for the better or worse, but the situation that caused her to rethink his character certainly did cast a shadow of unease upon her otherwise calm pool of a mind.

The living room remained the only place brightly lit when the storm was going on. Kisame, Deidara, Tobi and Konan were killing time.

Or more accurately, Tobi was annoying Kisame and Deidara to high heaven while Konan was mulling over in Hell with nothing but anger and pride for company.

Eventually, as Tobi released yet another obnoxious laugh, she walked out of the room. She would have killed to hear a laugh like that; it was a good laugh. It worried her that she liked the false sense of security it gave… why like fake things better than the truth? But she liked it and she didn't stop herself from liking it.

The other Akatsuki members looked at her with mixtures of curiosity and annoyance on their faces. She slammed the door so hard in walking out that the already rusty and ancient hinges had snapped. Their annoyance probably stemmed from the fact that not only was the loud noise of a door unpleasant, but also stemmed from the knowledge that it was not Konan who would be fixing the door, but them.

Either way, it disturbed Konan enough that she'd rather go to her dark room than hang out in the brightly lit atmosphere of the living room though.

And now, here she was, walking through mould infested corridors, rotting floor boards before making a turn into the softened putty like wood of her room.

Rats squealed somewhere in the corner and the whole thing smelled like something had died in there.

She waited awhile before slipping out of the room yet again to find a more secluded spot. She could already hear _**him**_ following her. Was he surprised by her rare outburst? Storming out of the room? Her rather overly emotional huff as his alter ego made another stupid comment that she so hated to love?

She wasn't the only one. But she was probably the only one that still thought that despite the fact that she knew who he really was. How many times have the other clueless members commented on how "Tobi" could brighten up the gloomy organization? Ironic that Akatsuki, named after the daybreak turned out to be so dark and solemn, quite unlike the sunburst of a new start.

He wouldn't chase her long anyway. His attention span, while can be absolutely terrifying and overpowering when he gave you all his attention, rarely remained focused when trivial things occurred. He might make a snide comment of it though – How Konan's apparent dislike for fake Tobi exceeded her disdain for him. She never hid her disdain, but she never hid her respect for him.

As co-leader, and simple bystander to Madara's and Nagato's discussions, she never received his full attention. Perhaps she would get a glance of interest, a simple word to ask on development of missions and simple snippets of sentences that can hardly be counted as conversations. But the fact that Madara Uchiha paid attention to her at all can easily be attributed to a simple whimsical impulse, a characteristic of his personality that seemed completely strange in his very old age.

Old man.

He shouldn't be bothering with the young girls who wanted nothing to do with him.

Not that she was that young anymore.

She made yet another turn through the winding corridors. Konan could already hear him catching up with ease. But she wasn't trying hard to get away… if she ever got too stressed by his burgeoning presence all she would have to do is scatter. Fly away. And run. Nothing is too difficult to escape.

Suddenly, Konan spun around and headed for another stairway. His presence came from below her so he might have been planning to flank her current direction.

She headed up, stairs creaking still against her delicate weight.

The paper girl herself was silent save for the indirect noise generated from her surroundings. The soft moan of the stairs sounded as she spun upon her heels, glancing down the black depths as she carefully walked backwards.

He was close.

A quiet sigh of acceptance came from her lips. There was no point in being frustrated, the hide out might be big, but should pose no obstacle to a sufficiently trained ninja. She would never be able to lose anyone here. And she did not really feel strongly about him enough to attempt to separate and scatter in her paper form.

She just didn't like him much and would rather not talk to him but if he really felt that coming all the way to the "cold end" of the house was worth it… then she'd better hear what he had to say.

The Uchiha did not even order her to stop and listen, which was quite pleasing. He never ordered her to do anything mainly because such instructions always went through Nagato, not her, not the delicate female.

Actually, scratch that, if he ordered her to stop and listen, at least she'd know she was worth just as much as the Rinnegan. Which she wasn't. As Madara did not order the lower members like Deidara directly, he would not issue her orders directly either.

She remembered what Nagato had told her of this practice: "Konan, orders go through me. Not you."

Her stalker had not made his presence properly known yet. She only had the vague sense of his chakra, faint and tightly reigned in. If she were of a wilder disposition, she would have snarled. His chakra was lightly teasing, almost baiting her to find him.

As Tobi, his chakra did not match his personality. She wondered why Deidara hadn't noticed the cold detached feel of it.

Tobi was playful but Madara's chakra right now, though it truly was testing and teasing her, the tone of it remained mocking; a reflection of Uchiha pride perhaps. It was never the bright warmth that people would naturally associate with his stupider alter ego.

There it was again. The brush of power against her own chakra. Her own rather weak runny energy like a tranquil pond. The terribly invasive presence ebbed away again as she spun around, her own chakra flaring as it attempted to swipe back at it. To know where that wielder of fire was.

However, those words make it seem more than it probably meant symbolically. It was perfectly normal for her to behave in the way she did. If he did not announce his intentions, for she wasn't sure if he even wanted to talk to her or whether he even meant to follow her, she was within her social rights to investigate.

"Come out, I'm not in the mood for playing," Konan found herself saying rather stupidly. If he really wasn't following her, and she merely exaggerated his stalking patterns, she would be quite embarrassed.

When there was no reply, she felt a faint blush spread upon her cheeks. It had been a long time since Konan felt this ridiculous. Talking to nothing but a lingering mad man.

The house no longer seemed so creepy or mysterious so she began walking back to the steps, ready to return to her room. Her plan was interrupted.

A harsh grip upon her wrist set her off, her mouth opening to begin a scream – whether of fear or rage had not been decided – before a gloved hand slammed onto the lower half of her face. The force of it sent her reeling back until she impacted her assailment's chest before he pushed her into an empty room, locking the door.

A strong heartbeat pulsed against her back, spreading faint tendrils of panic and warmth through her body. She pulled away, but his strength was much greater than hers and she could do no more but slightly arch off his hard muscled body before snapping back on it like an elastic band.

She was terrified, pride be damned.

Madara Uchiha, never having said more than a sentence of seven words in length to her, had his arms tightly wrapped across her head and one across her waist.

Then she realized his hand was much too big for her face and was obstructing her breathing. She struggled forward, but that only made him grip her harder. Jutting her elbows back, she succeeded in winding him somewhat. With the sudden air on her face, she fell forward, crawling to lengthen the distance between him and her.

Her jagged movement against the floor made her robe and skin catch on a nail that hadn't been pressed into the rotting boards fully, tearing her flesh, blood oozing out from between her skin.

Her legs had fallen asleep and were not responding the way she wanted them to which led to her using only her hands to drag herself forward, lower half uselessly limp. And even that movement soon proved impossible as he shimmied along her legs until his entire weight was on her back.

A flash of lightning lit up the room momentarily. There was nothing to see with her face pressed on the cold smooth floor. Pathetically, a few motes of dust lit up in the storm before the light then vanished with the fluttering lightning.

Rain strummed down in a rhythmic pattern, creating spider webs of water that spread across the cold pane of the window.

His body was warm against her and his hands were uncomfortably bruising as he placed them upon her wrist, pinning her down effectively. Konan would have bucked and struggled but common sense won over her that this was something you really do not want to do if there is a man above you.

Furthermore, she reminded herself, blushing with mortification at her previous thought, they were not enemies. You have to remember that while he has you pinned down onto the rotting wood and that splinters are rubbing into your face, that he is not an enemy.

He is your leader. He isn't your god, but he is your leader and his actions could actually be easily explained.

Madara's gloved hand gripped her arm where it was still bleeding. His long fingers nudged against the long slit the nail had made, pushing the flap of torn open skin aside and rubbing into the blood.

Konan spasmed, it was not so much as painful as a sharp stinging sensation that jerked up to her elbow. From her reaction, his hand did not immediately stop, instead opting to languidly wrap long fingers across her wound as if pushing it back into her skin.

It was a small mercy that she could not feel the hot breath at her neck. The orange swirled mask stopped that from happening, even if it did lead to the back of her neck feeling decidedly uncomfortable with the hard plastic digging into the sensitive flesh. As she tried to squirm away, he pressed his face harder, gripped her stronger and closed his legs over hers.

His mask was still against her neck.

Plastic can be incredibly cold. Goosebumps rose up along her arms and the rough pull of the Akatsuki cloak only intensified the prickly feeling. Coarse material, pulling across the sensitive skin, like the shaving of a wooden block, curls of dust that rain down to give the lifeless medium some shape and she tried to pull herself away from him again.

The effect this had on Konan was for her to grit her teeth and attempt to lift her arms despite the heavy weight of Madara on them. While her mid-body remained warm, almost hot, her cold and overly sensitive arms and neck twitched with discomfort. This did nothing but urge the Uchiha to place more weight down on her, to stop her squirming.

This felt so terribly mechanic and impersonal despite that he was so… close. It was probably the fact that actual skin to skin contact was non-existent. His cloak, leather gloves… his whole body was covered in neat black fabric.

And his breathing was unnervingly, horrifically calm. In. Out. In. Out. Like clockwork. The fact that a woman was pinned under him in an intimate, non-combative way did absolutely nothing to his calm demeanour.

Konan tried not to think that this man, lying on top of her and gripping her body so tightly… was old enough to be her grandfather's father. It was sick.

The feel of his hands upon her skin was cloying. This pressure that did not ebb, but only intensified each time she turned away. It was so sick and wrong to the point where she felt light headed with his presence so close and corrupting.

There was another flash of lightning. If she could look up, she would see it illuminate the sky before it vanished. The large pulsing roll of thunder sounded and her hands curled into fists on the harsh wood floor.

Her arms strained as she tried to lift herself up. It seemed that all those push ups she had done as part of her training seemed in vain when used against an Uchiha that at the moment seemed incredibly heavy.

Konan's chest was pressed down on the floor and each breath only served to remind her of the terrible pressure upon her back.

Then, she managed to twist her back which prompted Madara to flip over so she was now staring at the ceiling and practically lying on top of his body. She thought she heard a soft sigh as one of his hands trailed upwards, running lightly across her chest to take place against her white neck. Leather clad fingers curled slightly, not enough to cut off the air supply, but enough to warn her that a small twitch and she'd be looking for a new head.

While leather is quite cool, her neck burned.

Konan realized she had been silent too long, just taking this behaviour without even the murmur of a question from her lips. Madara seemed to realize what she was thinking and a small "Hn" noise voiced his amusement.

"It seems you are rather enjoying yourself," he said. "You're completely helpless, my paper girl. What are you going to do now?"

"How can I be enjoying this?" her voice was as unemotional and as monotone as ever. The hint of breathlessness from fear that teased across the edges nonexistent as she struggled to control her voice. "Let me go, I told you I'm not interested in playing."

He laughed.

Her eyes widened.

He actually laughed.

Like Tobi did, all bright and cheerful.

"Ah, Konan-chan! Tobi feels like playing though!"

She felt him rub his hair against the side of her cheek and her brought her up to her feet, his plastic mask nuzzling against the high neck of her robe. She tried to pull away but found out that once again, her discomfort was no match for his iron grip, harsh and unyielding despite the soft almost sickeningly adoring tone he was using.

"Get away from me."

"What does Konan-chan want to play?" he giggled, ignoring her.

Konan immediately ran to the door, unwilling to take part in any of the madness that seemed to have possessed Madara. There was regret though… she wanted to talk to Tobi. Like how everyone else could simply because they did not know who he was. She knew of course and because of her knowledge, simple pleasures of talking to a much loved personality were denied.

Her hand reached the door knob as the other one fumbled with the lock.

Damn it, she couldn't stop her hand from shaking and her knees from shivering. They were bent inwards, ready to buckle. Her fingers trembled as she heard the slow languid steps of Madara – no longer Tobi – from behind her.

She could hear his feet step on the ground, the squeaking of floor boards, the distinct smooth velvet noise of a heel to toe movement as he stalked closer. Konan was panicking.

At this rate, it'd take her twenty more seconds before she got the lock open.

"Thirty seconds actually, Konan. Little girl…"

She tried to scatter, but his chakra was no longer that tightly reigned beast she always pictured it as. It was completely unleashed, pressing from all sides and distorting her own chakra enough that her intricate jutsus could no longer work. Konan could feel it saturating through her paper skin, a violation that felt more dangerous than disgusting, it felt so sinister, sliding on her soft skin in a sick manner.

Then, she felt her hair grabbed and her stomach slammed against the doorknob.

Of course he was a sadist. She assumed that his sigh was one of disappointment when she did not scream despite the intensity of the pain.

But it was never like her to scream from pain.

Her sound of pain was more of a click than a moan, or a whimper. He fancied he could even hear paper tearing, Konan tearing out her emotionless exterior to show that sweet vulnerability he only ever saw in her when she was alone with him.

His hands caught her before she doubled over, cradling her to his chest once more as he sunk down the wall so she practically lay on his lap.

"Konan-chan!" his pleasant awkwardness was back. "You shouldn't be so reckless all the time."

His arms around her tightened and he rubbed her back in soothing circles. His tone was a gentle chiding.

"What the hell are you up to?" she finally hissed, her calm broken.

The orange mask tilted itself at her. There was a pause, maybe Madara contemplating what to say next… or who he should be when stating his next sentences.

His original and frankly, his preferred personality won out. He didn't have a split personality. He was just a good double faced bastard. A good boy.

"Use your head girl," he whispered, all traces of Tobi gone. His voice was back to its rough deepness. A pulsing of tone that was more felt rather than heard. "Always on the side Konan, you were never in the centre. Tobi always ignores you. My Sharingan can see each resentful gaze you cast at me, each hurtful glare you grant me. The hatred that consumes you… not hatred for me personally… just hatred that I am never Tobi _for you_."

He spun her around then, so her knees lay on either side of his own sprawled out legs. And she would very much have liked to close her eyes when another bolt of lightning struck. Because now, she saw a glimpse of that Sharingan, and she knew that in that glimpse, he could have made her do anything. Make her feel anything. Make her feel everything.

But he didn't, the tomoe still in that small moment…

Konan felt her knees finally give as she settled properly on his legs. Her hands found his cloak in the dark as she suddenly fisted it in a tight grip, her head bent down.

Then, she pushed herself away from his searching hands and prepared to stand up. She was not however, prepared for him to place his hand behind the back of her head and pull her down on him again, pressing her face onto his shoulder.

Konan felt her hands gripping his cloak again. She also felt her tears, though she knew she was crying for a reason far deeper than whatever it was that Madara was.

"Is Konan-chan sad?" Tobi's higher voice piped out again. "Tobi thinks Konan-chan is soooo pretty! She shouldn't be crying like that!"

And when she asked why not call her sempai like he always does to everyone else, he said that she was just too cute and that he could be _her _sempai.

His gloved hands encircled her face, still terribly non-intimate, but at least warming to the touch. Tobi tilted her head back to look at her. This time, she heard his breath quicken.

Konan wondered if he had to tell himself to breathe faster. That whether Madara was so calm all the time that he had to remind himself how to act like a normal human being. She wasn't like that was she? Here she was… acting like… a normal human being? Right?

But those thoughts fled her mind once he pulled her towards him, pressing his hip against hers, graciously allowing her to bury her face once more in his shoulder, her hair brushing past his mask.

She could feel his heartbeat against her and though he wore a mask, she thought she could feel his warm breath by her ear.

It probably pleased him, the slight tear streaks and blurred mascara. But at the very least, she could really pretend this was Tobi, no more lightning to show the eye she'd rather not see.

Unconsciously, she tightened her grip, her hands running down his sides to hold onto Tobi's waist. And she stayed like that for a very long time, legs straddling his hips, chest pressed against chest and her head held against the side of his covered face.

Even God doesn't have to know everything.

X.X.X

A/N

Well hope you enjoyed that! (IMHO, Madara is going to turn out to be a freaking ugly Zetsu clone…) Let us all hope that he does get to fight Konan rather than summoning up Sasuke to do it… once the next Naruto chapter gets translated and released in about the next… ten hours.

Oh and it's my birthday today! So please review!


	9. GodsDawn

A/N

Lots of symbolism here. I'm sure you all know what "Akatsuki" means.

In a sense my dear readers, there are two Akatsukis and this is in the time of the first one.

**Dawn**

"_These will be the flowers of hope that never die."_

Above the buildings of Amegakure, stood three dark figures. Each wore a long cloak, high collared and plain black. Already it was obvious each cloak was not only made of a heavy coarse material, but it was also designed to be waterproof. Squinting, one could probably see the tell tale glint of metal, set around the area of the forehead. They cast an ominous light. Strong chakras, shinobi attire and they carried the aura of killers.

Then, one by one, the three figures shucked off the black articles, revealing brighter coloured and less conservative clothing underneath. Laughing together… probably an inside joke nobody will ever know. They sat down upon the large statue that towered over Amegakure.

Imagination would shut down and die before picturing three evil looking shinobi laughing with such delight. However, imagination would leap at the chance to picture three children laughing with such delight. As soon as black cloaks were gone, there were no more shinobi, just three very young adolescents, enjoying themselves. Even the forehead protectors looked more like a mere toy upon their childish faces than the actual genuine mark of a ninja.

What kind of face is the face that stops crying?

What kind of world is the world that stops dying?

The face would be blotchy, red streaked with swollen eyes. Perhaps the lips will be overly swelled and the cheeks might still hold a faint blush from misery.

And the world will have peace.

There shall be no more sadness and the skies will no longer have to bleed their tears.

But there were some days where the sky wasn't crying, those rare once a decade days when the Hidden Village of the Rain… did not rain. It was those sorts of days where Yahiko postponed most of the missions… most of them. Because even though it was tranquil, it was important not to forget their goal or their comrades whose blood have already been spilt.

This however, was truly the perfect day. Fighting has been ceased; there were no missions to do. After all, in about a week's time, they would be meeting Hanzo and, perhaps there truly can be peace after all. It had come as a surprise, that news… that the fearsome Salamander was finally willing to have peace talks with Akatsuki… stop the endless tears… as Yahiko had put it.

And even with the lingering misery, the faint smell of death, living by the moment for plans in the future is not so daunting with people you love by your side.

She smiled. There is nothing like the thought of a dream, an obsession shared with your closest friends that can lighten up the day.

Literally speaking, the day was already quite bright by Amegakure standards. The greys had been washed out, replaced by a lime yellow. Not overly hot, not even warm, but more like the cool promise of better days. It was as if some mad artist had taken the faintest and most translucent of watercolours and spread the paint across the entire city.

Buildings that used to be stricken with grey purple now glowed with a light pink and the entire atmosphere was sheltered by the slightest layer of lime green. Yellow streaks were haphazardly sprinkled at random intervals, morphing into a darker rich orange at parts, and Konan could see where the watercolour had perhaps run a bit thin in the white speckled streaks.

"There are always so many clouds…" she said quietly.

"And they'll never really go away," Nagato had replied. "But its fine, I quite like them there."

Ringed grey eyes squinted upwards.

"It kinda… kinda looks like cotton candy," the Rinnegan user had continued, the wisdom of youth blatant in his tone.

Yahiko gave his two friends a disbelieving look.

"The rains finally stopped, it's a beautiful day and you guys are thinking about stupid clouds?"

"I'm still trying to make clouds, but the paper always gets all messed up. Why not admire the real ones?"

"You can't make origami clouds. Clouds are soft… and paper is…" Yahiko tilted his head thoughtfully. "Paper is kinda stiff you know?"

Between her hands, Konan held her first attempt at an origami cloud – a white sheet of paper crumpled up so that it looked like any ordinary scrunched paper ball.

Nagato stared at the mess. "Maybe you might want to stylize it a bit, a flat cloud and just fold the outline."

"Hmm… you're probably right," Konan said thoughtfully.

The threesome sat there silently for a moment, the constant slight breeze blowing hair towards the horizon, blue hair… orange hair… red hair… The point of talking wasn't to say something important. The point of talking was to know that throughout the entire war, your friends were still alive. The words don't matter.

"Come on Konan… let's see you make a crane!"

"Nah, do a dog instead!"

"One of those flowers you always do huh?"

They continued on like that. Konan opened and closed her hand, a new object of paper taking form with each of their suggestions. A bird. Then the hand closed once more, crumpling up the paper and when it opened again, it would show something else. A ship. A butterfly. A box.

Maybe it looked like a cool magic trick. Of course it was just a simple jutsu, the basis of all her techniques. Honestly, Konan preferred folding things by hand than using chakra. It was more personal. And it seemed a waste of chakra.

Sure, their conversations here were inane, senseless… they could have been discussing battle techniques, training… sparring… but it was a good day and mindless conversations were the best way to spend it.

"It's nice…" Konan murmured, squished between Yahiko and Nagato. "It's nice if everyday remained like this."

The Ame Orphans sat on the top of Amegakure, perched upon one of the many metal gargoyles the dominated this recently colour crazed metropolis.

Yahiko's smile was never fully happy, but it contained the brash enthusiasm and hope of what was left of his childhood. It spoke not of naïve soft times, but of hard times… a dark wicked tunnel that despite all the misfortunes stalking in it, still led on to a brighter future.

"It will Konan," he grinned. "Hanzo has agreed to meet with Akatsuki. From there, our negotiations will finally pay off."

His face darkened with determination and desperation.

"It has to. The blood of those fallen shall be repaid… and will never be forgotten."

They were fairly mature words for someone like Yahiko. But maturity comes with suffering and warfare and so out of the blood, Yahiko had risen like the hope that now linked them together.

"And we'll find the peace that sensei taught us," Nagato said quietly. "The chain of hatred ends here."

The red haired boy nearly chocked when Yahiko slapped him heartily on the back.

"Of course it will!" he said, glancing back out into the sprawling city below them.

Another moment of silent deep and reflective contemplation. In this case, one person contemplated "Ugh, when is lunch going to be… I'm starving". Another person contemplated "That dream last night of dancing lobsters was quite weird…" and the third person contemplated whether using red paper to make the clouds was a better idea… make it more symbolic… and also whether it was possible to convince the majority of Akatsuki to make iron on patches of said clouds because "only real men love cutesy things like that".

Far from watchful eyes, or the children's remarkably strong and honed ninja senses, lay another contemplation, a contemplation of a darker and more mature nature coming from a man in the shadows somewhere behind their sunlit spot. A mask covered his face.

One child had seen him before.

But it was not the child that would speak so suddenly next.

"We'll always be together?" Nagato said suddenly, leaning forward to look at both Yahiko and Konan.

"U-um," Yahiko was deep in thought, brows furrowed and lips perked. He was acting his age now, no need to be the mighty leader when all three of them were alone, on top of the world and enjoying the rare sun. "I 'spose there are some important stuff to do. I mean running a country is probably hard work isn't it?"

He looked to Konan for confirmation. The girl nodded, unsure but unwilling to share ignorance.

"So I guess we'll all be going around, busy…" Konan said, seemingly unhappy with the direction of the conversation. "And we won't see each other much. Or at all."

The three sat silently in mournful thoughts. Would running a country really be a huge responsibility? Harder than running Akatsuki?

"Of course not!" Yahiko shouted. He stood up onto the metal concrete, sun casting him as an overbearing silhouette. His bright orange hair stood out in the washed out colours. He turned back to his two companions with a large grin on his face as he spread his arms wide. "I am the leader and creator of Akatsuki! Nothing is too hard for me! We'll still see each other!"

Smiles spread across Konan's and Nagato's face, how could they not when their much loved Yahiko stood up so proudly like that? That was what Yahiko liked to see. Happiness.

"And even if we're too busy, we'll still set aside a holiday 'kay? A holiday where all we do is see each other!" he flopped down onto the hard metal, exhausted by his own enthusiasm. "That'll be enough for me… to just see you guys are okay…"

"Can you… can you really do that?" Nagato had asked. "Make a holiday for all of us? Make it so we can still see each other no matter how far apart or busy we are?"

Yahiko stared up at his friend with a grin on his face.

"I've said so already… when I become God of the new world…." He smiled with satisfaction. "I can do anything… _God can do anything_."

His hand reached outwards, as if to grab the brighter future that just lay in reach. Or perhaps it was just to shield the sun pouring down onto his face.

All three Ame Orphans lay back on the wall, looking at the city of Amegakure that will one day be theirs.

The world they would all one day rule.

And together, for they would always be together, they watched for the coming dawn.

X.X.X

A/N

A much shorter chapter for which I apologize… but quality, not quantity right?

As for a note on why they act so young… in the manga I have no idea what age they died. I know Deva Path is around 25-30… but I'm guessing he aged a bit even when dead. When you see Yahiko get killed, he looks a lot younger (or not…). So I made them very young. Very young and very talented.

Well I wrote this one to contrast with Madara's chapter. This one is supposed to be light hearted… not all dark and weird. Konan called Madara darkness, so I'm pretty sure she thought of Nagato as the light.

If you liked the tone of Paper Girl and would like to read more of it… I'll be posting a new story soon that has pretty much the exact same tone, but completely different idea/context. Look out for it! (Author alert… cough…)

So thanks for all of you guys for reviewing! I can't tell you how much I appreciate it! And what's best is that you kept reviewing even when I replied with my inane and random statements about my stories. I seriously hope it did not annoy any of you. ):

And still… because you know my desperation (AND the fact it is the last chapter…)

**Please Review! Especially those who had alerted/favourited but had not reviewed yet!**

And if you'd like… in your review… you can tell me your favourite chapter/which chapter you want me to expand on. Why? Because I want to do a multi-chapter with Konan and –insert Akatsuki member name here-… or just a really long one-shot. (Author alert to look out for it xD)

-End bloated Author's Note-


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